


Talkin' 'bout a Revolution

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Gen, It just happened okay, M/M, bit o' smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis are a mutant rights group headed by Enjolras, strictly professional, determined and passionate. So, a complete opposite to the leader of the mercenary group they were forced to team up with over a year ago. But as the government plans begin to threaten members of the group and things get a lot more personal secrets will have to come out, and issues solved if they're going to find a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sent Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >“Is something distracting you, sir?” Enjolras asks, nudging the man on the chair with his foot. The sir, far from being a mark of respect, only adds to the command in his tone and the man stammers out a no.  
> “Who wouldn’t be distracted?” Grantaire comments to Jehan, sitting next to them as they both perch on a balcony. From up here they have a vantage point, over the scene below. Enjolras and Courfeyrac stand with the man, interrogating him almost, as shadowy sentinels stand by the doors. Their own mutation had been of no use this evening, but they're happy to stay to watch the man in the chair squirm after what he's been trying recently. Enjolras pauses, because of course he hears Jehan thinks with a small smirk as Grantaire’s head turns.  
> “What was that?”

“Is something distracting you, sir?” Enjolras asks, nudging the man on the chair with his foot. The sir, far from being a mark of respect, only adds to the command in his tone and the man stammers out a no.  
“Who wouldn’t be distracted?” Grantaire comments to Jehan, sitting next to them as they both perch on a balcony. From up here they have a vantage point, over the scene below. Enjolras and Courfeyrac stand with the man, interrogating him almost, as shadowy sentinels stand by the doors. Their own mutation had been of no use this evening, but they're happy to stay to watch the man in the chair squirm after what he's been trying recently. Enjolras pauses, because of course he hears Jehan thinks with a small smirk as Grantaire’s head turns.  
“What was that?” Enjolras asks, he doesn’t use the commanding tone on them, but his expression and presence alone is enough.  
“Just saying, who wouldn’t be distracted by you? I mean I’ve got a pretty good view from up here.”  
Jehan groans inwardly. They do this every time, they wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t continual ribbing. Grantaire flirts, becoming increasingly more suggestive as the evening wears on, and of course it winds Enjolras up. It was find when it was just them out, they could be as jokey as they want, but Enjolras likes to keep things professional. No names, preferably no faces, and definitely no jokes.  
“Of course you do.” Enjolras sighs, folding his arms. “You’re supposed to be keeping watch.”  
“Oh I am…”  
“Not of me.” He says tersely.  
“Oh my shadows are doing a good job of that.” Grantaire waves his hand. Jehan leans on one hand with a sigh.  
“Then you can leave.” Enjolras tells him suddenly. “We’re fine here without you.” Grantaire seems thrown by this, pausing to stare at him.  
“But-“  
“We are fine here. You two are free to go for the evening.” Jehan’s a little offended at being included in this unceremonious kicking out, but they don’t dare say under the weight of Enjolras’s glare. Courfeyrac shoots them a look, half amused, half sympathetic.  
“Alright then, if you’re sure.” Grantaire doesn’t look especially pleased, but he’s not annoyed either. He hops down from the balcony, and Jehan follows slightly less gracefully. “We’ll be off. You know where to find us.” He ghosts a hand over Enjolras’s shoulders and the other’s glare only intensifies, then they’re out of the door Jehan sighing and stretching their arms up.  
“You sure know how to wind a guy up.” They comment.  
“He’s so easy to wind up though, it’s honestly hard not to.”  
They head for the tube, it’s not far from here, and down the stairs into the station, quiet at this time of night. Echoey.  
“You know I was actually hoping to get some ‘payment’ out of tonight.” Jehan comments on the escalator, turning to face him.  
“They’ve never paid us before.” Jehan raises an eyebrow at him slightly suggestively. “Ooh… A more personal payment.”  
“There you go, you got it.” They tease.  
“How did I not realise that? Do you get ‘payment’ every time?” Grantaire folds his arms.  
“Oh god no, usually we do it in a personal, not professional capacity. Unlike you, who does all the flirting strictly in the professional arena.”  
“Well, he wouldn’t hang out with me in a personal capacity now would he?” Grantaire slings an arm over their shoulder as they reach the platform. “I don’t have any other opportunity to release my flirting tensions.”  
“This is the first time you’ve gotten us thrown out though.” Jehan reminds him, stepping on to the train that pulls into the station. “That’s new.”  
“He must be pissed…” Grantaire ponders, leaning on the window. Jehan takes hold of a pole for themselves, raising an eyebrow, Grantaire has a knack for winding up the leader of their partner group. It’s an odd arrangement, when the two ‘leaders’ seem to annoy each other more and more each day, but the rest of them get along more than enough to make up for it. “What, he must! He never usually chucks out the eyes.”  
Jehan goes to reply, but before they can they feels someone grope at them. It’s more common than they’d like to admit, their long hair and choice of fashion making them an easy target from behind. They set their jaw, twist their lips and sigh.  
“You’re going to do three things. Get your hand off my arse, apologise and then get the fuck away from me.” They don’t need to turn, they’ve mastered the steely voice by now. There’s a pause, then Grantaire gets that slightly threatening look on his face. There’s no apology, but the hand is withdrawn and there’s a shuffling sound.  
“Sorry.” Grantaire murmurs. “I didn’t want to step in but he was being an arse…”  
“It’s alright. It just bloody infuriating.” They lean against his side, because it just feels easier that way. Grantaire slings an arm around their waist and pulls him a little closer.  
They reach their stop and Grantaire walks them home, like he always does. It’s chilly tonight, a bite of autumn creeping into the air.  
“Is Courfeyrac coming back?”  
“Doubt it, it’s a bit late now.” Jehan smiles. “Maybe next time.”  
“I’m so proud of you, getting lucky.” Grantaire nudges them as Jehan unlocks the door.  
“Oh shut up.” Jehan rolls their eyes. “Right, are you heading home?”  
“Yeah, ‘fraid so.”  
“Fair enough.” Jehan reaches up to hug him. “Night you.”  
“Night.” Grantaire kisses their cheek, then let’s go to retreat down the street with a wave and a grin. He looks like the goofy kid they’ve known since they were teens, when they both began discovering they weren’t entirely ‘normal’. When Grantaire’s drawings had started taking on lives of their own, and Jehan’s plants began curling around them as they sobbed in bed one evening after school, as if they didn’t have enough to deal with. Jehan leans on the door frame, with an amused smile.  
“Idiot…”

Grantaire is sitting on his armchair when Enjolras actually makes it back to his flat. He says sitting, it’s more lounging, legs over one arm, head resting on a cushion on the other. Enjolras sighs, shutting the door firmly behind him, enough that the other man glances up with a wide grin.  
“Hey!”  
“Do you have to be quite so difficult?” Enjolras mutters, dropping the sports bag he’s carrying and kicking off his shoes. As he moves through the room he strips off the layers, gloves first a finger at a time until they’re discarded on the worktop, then his jacket draped over the back of a chair, until he stands opposite the man. Infuriatingly his grin just grows. “What?”  
“Nothing, you just look good with your hair like that.” Enjolras grumbles, pushing a hand through the potentially offending locks. “How was I being difficult?”  
“The sheer amount of flirting? Which, might I add, was inappropriate for the situation. Sometimes we have to work together, but that doesn’t mean things can always be like that.” He gestures for Grantaire to move, which he does, but only to an upright position rather than off the seat as hoped. Enjolras debates just sitting on the actual sofa opposite, not giving him the satisfaction. Grantaire’s still dressed in his ‘work gear’, which basically means jeans and a high necked shirt under a leather jacket and fingerless gloves – he never was quite as careful as Enjolras.  
Enjolras opts instead to tug at the zip of the coat, until it reveals the black of his shirt, pushing it down off his shoulders. Grantaire shrugs out of it.  
“Better for you?” He asks, peeling off his gloves too in the infuriatingly slow fashion of someone trying to seduce. Enjolras watches, they’re hypnotising hands, mostly slender but the knuckles are slightly too big, purple and bruised. He doesn’t reply, he knows he can get Grantaire to do whatever he fancies if he only asks just so, but he prefers the way the other watches him with cocky eyes. Because he just knows, he knows what will happen next, if he only waits.  
“You shouldn’t flirt with me on the job.” He repeats.  
“But you get so worked up.”  
“You shouldn’t be trying to get me angry in that setting.” Grantaire smirks, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, leaning on his other hand.  
“Oh you misunderstand, I wasn’t trying to get you angry. I was trying to get you a different kind of frustrated.”  
“Huh…” Enjolras’s tongue flicks out across his lips, they’re dry from a night of work, of talking. “That’s no reassuring me of your professional integrity.”  
“It wasn’t supposed to.” Grantaire says smoothly. “It was supposed to get you onto my lap.”  
He’s got that infuriating look on his face, slightly hooded eyes, lips quirked, one eyebrow slightly raised. Enjolras really shouldn’t give in to it, he should just go and sit on the sofa, lie back and throw an arm over his eyes to better ignore him. That’s what he should do, instead he pulls his lip between his teeth and takes up a position near to Grantaire’s earlier one, legs over the arm of the chair, head on Grantaire’s shoulder. It’s not sexy, it’s not really anything, but he’s exhausted and Grantaire is warm and comfy.  
“Okay, maybe not quite what I was aiming for, I was hoping you’d at least face me.”  
“Shut up.” Enjolras bats at his cheek. Grantaire chuckles, catching his hand to kiss it.  
It’s so different to how it used to be, when Grantaire would push and push and he’d get more and more worked up, yelling more and more cruel things. It had been Joly’s idea to invite the second group in. They’re freelancers, mutants taking no particular side but willing to fight. He had acquaintances in the group, and so he and Grantaire had started working together, along with his 4 strong motley crew of battle worn mercenaries.  
From there, you could say, it had been downhill. Grantaire’s a hard enough worker, efficient, but he also won’t stop talking. He can talk about anything, frequently does, but his favourite is undoubtedly anything that will get under Enjolras’s skin. Arguing, flirting, anything he can think of to annoy him. It can’t remember exactly what was said that particular day, what worked him up so much that after over 8 months he finally snapped but he had. There’d been a comment, as they left their job and walked down an alley, something that had made him spin around to face the other man, to begin a confrontation. And instead, after he got out a ‘you think you’re so-‘ he’d found his lips on Grantaire’s, hungry and wanting. From there it had been hands in hair, under shirts, dipping into underwear, lips travelling downwards and quiet mutters against skin.  
‘Christ… Just tell me what the magic word was.’ Grantaire had murmured, a hand trailing down his arm.  
There wasn’t any need for a magic word, as it turns out. Jobs turn into nights together more times than he can count, then Grantaire started basically breaking into his flat on nights off, with dinner and films, until he gave up and gave him a key, over a year later, and somewhere along the line, they basically started living together. He’s still not been to Grantaire’s flat, maintained for appearances sake and as a useful base when nerves are frayed and raw.  
Tonight though the presence is reassuring, and Grantaire presses lazy kisses along his wrist until Enjolras actually leans up to press a kiss to his lips. He’s expecting a ‘much better’ from the other man, it’s his style, but instead a hand comes to cup his cheek and hold him there in a languid kiss.  
“I thought you were trying to rile me up.” Enjolras murmurs, shifting so he can better face him.  
“This works for me too.” He smiles, pushing Enjolras’s hair back off his face. It was in a ponytail, but it doesn’t like actually staying there, so by the end of the evening most of the front section has escaped. “You’ve been working hard, I should let you have a night off.”  
“Huh…” Enjolras smiles, contemplating his expression, the way his eyes search over Enjolras’s face, travelling down his throat and chest, exploring though his hands don’t move. He knows he’s tracing over every hollow, every scar, every inch of skin that’s he’s worked so hard to memorise. Enjolras, however, does reach out a hand, running a finger down the black fabric that’s taut against his skin. Grantaire actually shivers, and Enjolras is reminded of the fact that he can be driven just as wild even if he’s slightly better at hiding it in public. Or maybe he just flirts so much he’s never noticed. “Maybe I just need to unwind.”  
“And you’re going to do that by driving me mad I’m guessing?”  
“Mhmm…” Enjolras leans forward to plant another lingering kiss on his lips. Grantaire pulls him close again, this time slipping a hand under his shirt. Those infuriating fingers trace up his spine, along the small of his back. Fingers that he’s seen work wonders, create marvels, and now they outline patterns in ink against the skin of his ribs. Enjolras is happy for a while, pressing kisses to the corners of Grantaires’ mouth, but that high neckline of his shirt is getting in the way now so he tugs at it impatiently. Grantaire chuckles lightly, leaning back enough that he can actually get it off over his head, making a comment about impatience. Enjolras just presses closer, kissing at his neck now the skin is exposed.  
He’ll complain, in the morning, that he got no sleep because doing this kept him up for way longer than he needed to be, even though he was exhausted. But secretly, not so secret because Grantaire definitely knows, he loves the slowness of the affair. Compared to other nights of hot lips against his skin, desperate and needy, finding any place they can, scrabbling hands. This is loving, gentle, there’s no hurry in the way they undress, all little touches. He can feel ink creeping lightly across his skin, forming shapes and words, oddly pleasant. The words often say what Grantaire can’t, once, about a month ago, he was left with a fast fading ‘I love you’ across his hip, that Grantaire had vehemently denied for a good couple of hours before finally caving.  
‘Fine I just… I kind of do, and it snuck up on me and I don’t even know how it got there.’  
‘This is the least romantic way you could have told me ever, after telling me in a way that was pretty sweet.’  
‘I ruined it, of course I did… I’m just bad at this.’  
‘I love you too.’ Enjolras told him, before he could talk himself in circles.  
He says it again now, in breaths against Grantaire’s skin, as hands grip hair and hips. The man in question groans, dropping his head to Enjolras’s shoulder.  
“Christ-“  
“Now I know the magic words.” Enjolras teases, slipping his hand back a little lower, and Grantaire makes a low noise. “You know I think this is my favourite part of the whole arrangement.”  
“Me getting off to emotional confessions?” It’s definitely the voice for Grantaire, even without a trace of his commanding tone. He shudders, nipping lightly at Enjolras’s skin as the other continues.  
“You, trying to completely undo me with all the flirting, the remarks, all those little things you know drive me mad. And yet, when it comes down to it, all I have to do is say three little words and you’re a mess.”  
“And you’re just mean.” Grantaire mutters, but there’s no force behind his words. It’s probably not helped by the way Enjolras presses close again, murmuring in his ear before nipping at the lobe. Grantaire tenses, exhales a small ‘oh god’, and his head drops back against the arm chair. “God…”  
“I’m not so mean then?” Enjolras smirks, leaning back a little. Grantaire’s hand travels down his side, and leaves filigree.  
“Oh no, you really are. So mean, that you use things like love against me.” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t like being able to get off, but most people go for dirty talk.”  
Enjolras groans, pushing himself up to head for the bathroom.  
“Why can’t you just be all sweet in the afterglow like most people?”  
“Because then I wouldn’t be me would I? And you’d hate that…” Enjolras pouts at the mirror, because it’s true, he would. He would missed being taunted and tease, but also the loving side of Grantaire that comes out when they’re alone and they curl up on the sofa or in bed, or cook for one another. So he opts for throwing a wet flannel at him, secretly delighted when it just manages to catch his face. “Uncalled for.”  
“Perfectly justified.” Enjolras tells him, climbing in the shower, so he can wash off the grime of last night, relax the tense muscles of his shoulders. It works wonders, the five minutes he’s in there, and when he climbs back out he feels completely human again and not quite so mind-numbingly exhausted.  
Grantaire’s waiting for him, he always is, with a warm drink sitting on the bedside table and a pair of jogging bottoms laid out on the bed. He collapses on the bed as he pulls them on, head in Grantaire’s lap.  
“No suggestions, tonight is not a round two kind of night.”  
“I was only going to suggest that you got under the covers.”  
“Of course.” He sighs disbelievingly, rolling over a little to scrabble under the covers, it’s not graceful, he doesn’t care right now. Grantaire chuckles quietly, but holds out an arm once he’s made it. “Much better.” He mumbles, now much better cocooned against his side.  
“Warmer?”  
“Mhmm.” He drapes an arm over Grantaire, who opts to pick up the warm drink on the side and begin sipping it. He’s too tired to care right now, but he grumbles anyway.  
“You’ll fall asleep and then it’ll go to waste because I know you’re not sitting up now.”  
“Beside the point. You made it for me.”  
“What do you want, a straw?” Grantaire teases.  
“No…” Enjolras turns his face into Grantaire’s chest. It’s the talking, he thinks, more than anything, that saps his energy. “You’re lucky this ink isn’t permanent.”  
“Yeah?”  
“I think I have the word ‘fuck’ written on me several times.”  
“Well, my mouth wasn’t quite working right so…” He leans down to kiss Enjolras’s forehead. “I’m sorry, it just shows how good you are.”  
“Yeah yeah…” He mumbles  
“Okay, if you’re losing the ability to string words together maybe we should actually sleep.”  
“I did tell you, but you had to lure me in.”  
“To be fair, it worked.”  
“Oh just shut up and get down here.” Grantaire chuckles, finishing the drink in one more mouthful and wriggling down into the bed with him. Enjolras manages a small smile, leaning in to plant a short kiss on his lips. “Night…”


	2. Alley Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin.  
> “Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on.   
> “I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.”

“Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin.  
“Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on.   
“I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.”   
“I hardly screwed up.”  
“Well I was doing fine until you opened your damn mouth!” Enjolras whirls round to face him, and Grantaire’s watching him so impassively, like he honestly doesn’t give a damn. “You think you’re so bloody clever.”  
“Well I do have some exam results to say so.” He shrugs and Enjolras groans, pushing a hand through his hair.   
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. We don’t even have to work together, it wasn’t even my bloody idea and yet here I am stuck with you!” Grantaire’s face doesn’t change, and it only makes him more annoyed. “You stroll in looking so damn cocky, like you own the damn world, like you know so much better than anyone else, more than those of us who have been working on this for years. And it’s just bloody infuriating watching you being king of the world, and then messing everything up and pretending it doesn’t bloody matter!”  
“If you know I’m like that, why do you let it get to you?” Enjolras shakes his head incredulously.   
“You think you’re so-“  
“So?” Grantaire quirks an eyebrow and Enjolras wants to punch him, but all at once he finds himself grabbing the front of Grantaire’s shirt and pulling him into a rough kiss. Grantaire’s hands find themselves tangling into Enjolras’s hair to pull him tighter to himself. “Well, this wasn’t the confession I was expecting.”   
“Oh would you just shut up for one minute.” Enjolras mutters, pulling him back again, and their teeth knock together but neither pull away, instead Grantaire slides a hand down his back, skimming his fingers over his skin. Enjolras slips a hand under Grantaire’s shirt, moving him back against the wall. “God I’ve been waiting to find something to actually stop that smart mouth of yours.”  
“Well there aren’t any complaints here…” Grantaire murmurs breathily, then exhales roughly as Enjolras worms his knee between his legs. “You want me to fill my pretty mouth with something else?” Enjolras moans as Grantaire nips at his earlobe, and he can hear the smirk in his voice.  
“For fucks sake please do.” Grantaire spins them, Enjolras’s shoulder blades crashing against the brick wall behind him. Then he tugs at his hair, to expose his throat and place a line of kisses and bites along the skin, while his other hand moves to work the button of his jeans. Enjolras shifts into his touch as Grantaire’s fingers dip beneath the material. It briefly crosses his mind that they’re in public, only just hidden down the alley way, but they Grantaire moves to kneel and his mind goes blank because oh god his mouth isn’t just good at talking complete shit. “Fuck…” Enjolras’s hand tangles roughly into his curls, and receives a hum of contentment. “Fuck-“   
“Such foul language… I’ve waited so long to get you to put your voice to better use than just ordering people around.”   
“I thought you were being quiet?”   
“Sir.” Grantaire grins at him, and Enjolras tightens his grip, and watches as Grantaire’s eyes flutter closed and he dips his head again. It doesn’t take long, and Grantaire manages to make the whole thing all the more obscene by licking his lips as he watches Enjolras, leaning heavily against the wall. “Well this is a turn of events.”   
Enjolras sets his jaw, pulling himself together enough to push himself away from the wall. Something about Grantaire’s face, his knowing expression that Enjolras actually wanted and enjoyed that, absolutely infuriates him.   
“Don’t think this means anything.”   
“Oh yeah, my first assumption was that blowjobs in back alleys meant true love.” Grantaire has a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are still flirtatious, hooded and dark.   
“And already you’re right back to being so bloody cocky.”   
“You gonna shut me up again?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and Enjolras stares at him.   
“Oh you think you’re so clever.” He mutters before he turns to stalk toward to road.   
“Hey! You kissed me.” Grantaire calls.   
“And what a bloody mistake that was! Why are you following me?”   
“We live in the same direction! Jesus…” Enjolras pauses, then decides to just continue stalking down the road. “If you didn’t want to do it then you should have fucking said!”   
“Would you just let it go?”   
“Hmm, let’s see… You kiss me out of nowhere, we do that and now you’re even more pissed at me than before… No.” Grantaire puts bluntly.   
“It shouldn’t have happened.”   
“No shit. But it did.” Grantaire shoves his hands into his pockets and for once he actually looks annoyed. “And I rather enjoyed it, and I know that you sure as hell did so be an adult and deal with it!”   
“Come back to mine.” Enjolras says impulsively, because he’s still coursing with adrenaline and dopamine and right now he doesn’t want to be having this conversation.   
“Jesus Christ it’s like emotional whiplash with you Apollo.”   
“Are you complaining?” Enjolras folds his arms.   
“We’re having sex right?”   
“No, we’re baking cookies.” He says dryly, tapping his foot.   
“You’re trying to get out of talking.” Grantaire grins.  
“I think we both do enough of it day to day.” He receives a shrug in return. “When we can talk without yelling, then we can talk. Until then…”  
“Gonna be a long time coming Apollo.” Grantaire’s grin turns crooked, but he places a hand on the wall next to Enjolras’s head, to better lean into the inch or so between them and close the gap. “But I can wait.” 

He wakes up before Grantaire the next morning, by some miracle apparently because the instant he moves Grantaire groans and shifts so he freezes until he drops back to sleep. He carefully extricates himself, and decides he can’t risk trying to find any decent clothes so he grabs his jeans and a t-shirt from the top of his clean laundry and puts them on in the lounge.   
It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Grantaire it’s just that… He really doesn’t want to see Grantaire. So instead he slips out of the house, grabbing his wallet and keys, and jogs down the stairs.   
His favourite coffee shop is too close to home, too many windows, so he walks on until he finds a small establishment that looks like it’s probably frequented by truckers, but it’s clean enough. He orders a cappuccino and scrambled eggs on toast from the smiling waitress.  
It’s only when he’s staring at the sugar slowly vanishing into the milk froth on his coffee that he allows himself to pause and call himself an absolute bloody idiot.   
For starters he doesn’t even like Grantaire. He wouldn’t say he hates him, but the guy just has a way of getting completely under his skin, winding him up. Possibly the nearest thing he’s ever had to having his blood boil, if he’s honest. He just has such a way of talking, of getting in the way even that Enjolras can’t quite bring himself to consider him a friend, even the others from his rag-tag of vigilantes Enjolras would be beginning to consider friends and yet Grantaire hasn’t quite made it there.  
But you slept with him, he reminds himself and he’s about to tell himself to shut up for gods sake when the waitress reappears from the chain-mail kitchen curtain with his food.  
“I really love your tattoo.” She comments as she places the plate down.   
“Huh?”  
“The swallow. I’m not brave enough to get one, right wimp me.” She laughs.   
“Oh, right. It wasn’t so bad…” He smiles awkwardly, and she retreats behind the counter to sip her tea. He looks down at himself, completely confused by the fact that the girl is apparently seeing tattoos… And then he spots it, a swallow flying over the curve of his wrist bone, part of a trail, as it turns out, of fading birds curling down his wrist. “Shit…”  
He hadn’t realised Grantaire could even draw on skin, let alone how permeant this might be. What if he sees a friend, what if they see, what if they figure something out. It’s not like they’ll judge but, well, he will. Which sounds totally backward even in his own head but having anyone know about this would just…   
He feels ashamed.  
That’s the best word, he decides, cutting the corner of his toast.   
Not ashamed that he had sex, but ashamed that he strung someone along, someone who he doesn’t like and who doesn’t particularly like him either, and that he let it get that far. That he didn’t stop it at a kiss, at a quick touch, even at Grantaire going down on him.   
He took the guy home, hell now he’s gone and left a basic stranger in his house in the hope that he’ll be gone when he returns, and for what? Some fun? Stress relief?   
Enjolras groans, resting his head on his hand. He looks ridiculous, lying with his head next to a plate of eggs, on what is probably a very questionable table, but he probably couldn’t give less of a damn. Which is an unusual feeling.   
He stays in the café as long as he dares, or as long as he can before the waitress looks like she’ll come over and start chatting in the lull of the mid-morning.  
His flat is remarkably empty by the time he gets back, with not a thing out of place, though his bed has been made. He exhales in some sort of hideous relief, he knows eventually he’ll have to face it, next time they work together because he can’t avoid the guy forever. He supposes that’s why they always say to never sleep with your co-workers, though they never mentioned anyone who winds people up as much as Grantaire.   
He goes on with his day with a sense of tense relief. By the time he makes it back to his flat, shopping in tow, he’s all but released the tension weighing across his shoulders. He’s just debating what to make for dinner, pulling a few items out of his bags, when he realises that there’s someone else there with him. Grantaire is watching him from the sofa, a smirk winding its way across his features.   
Enjolras nearly drops the tin he’s holding.  
“Jesus Christ Grantaire!”   
“You made it back.” Enjolras put down his tin far too heavily.   
“Did you break into my house?”   
“Of course not. I just climbed the fire escape.” Enjolras doesn’t even justify that with a response, turning back to his cupboard. “Oh don’t be mad Apollo.”   
“I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be the slightest bit annoyed at the fact you climbed in through my window? Or that you’re just sitting here and that I could have… Hurt you?”  
“Oh you wouldn’t do that.” Grantaire grins cheekily.   
“Grantaire you know what I do for a living. You’re lucky I realised it was you!” Grantaire shrugs.  
“I trust you not to shoot me or whatever your preferred method would be.”   
Enjolras exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair.  
“What are you doing here?”   
“Well you ran off so quickly this morning I had no choice.” His smile is still infuriating and Enjolras does his best to ignore him, putting his various groceries away.  
“You could have just done the normal thing and forgotten the whole thing.”   
“Forget last night? Oh never… That was far too much fun.”  
“Oh good, so this is going to be my life now is it? You breaking into my house to remind me we had sex.”   
“I told you you wouldn’t get out of talking.”   
“I had to hold out some hope didn’t I?” Enjolras mutters. “Can you cook?”   
“What?” Grantaire chuckles.   
“If you insist on talking I may as well get something out of it.” Grantaire pauses, shrugs and the pushes himself up.   
“What do we have to start with?”   
To be fair, Grantaire does start cooking, but he never gets any further than chopping because somehow standing in the kitchen together turns into a stolen kiss or two which devolves further into kissing against the cabinet and then someone may end up bent over the work surface amongst breathy moans and nips and bruising fingers.   
“Fuck me Apollo…” Grantaire exhales shakily.   
“I thought I just did.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, dropping another kiss on his lips.   
“Talk.”   
“Why? This is fine.”   
“And here I thought you never want to see me again?”   
“I didn’t want to talk, if we can do that every time I can’t complain as much.”   
“You want a set up…”   
“Something like that.” He hears himself say and Jesus Christ does he actually mean that? Grantaire watches him carefully, with a look both perplexed and amused. “Do you have to do that?” Enjolras mutters, folding his arms. Grantaire only raises an eyebrow. “You may be the only person I’ve ever hated.” He tells him, scanning around to find his t-shirt. Grantaire turns to begin chopping food, completely butt-naked.   
“So this is all hate-fucking?”  
“You put it so nicely.”   
“Releasing all your pent up rage at the world, and directing it at me. And let’s be honest, there’s probably a lot of other pent up frustrations going on there because hoo boy have you see you? Such a workaholic. I think I’d be doing a service.”  
“Are you performing a ‘service’ now?” Enjolras asks, folding his arms as he leans on his counter and most decidedly not looking anywhere but the back of Grantaire’s head.   
“I mean I like to think I have a pretty good physique.” Grantaire shrugs.   
“You’re trying to wind me up.” Enjolras states. Grantaire glances over his shoulder with an infuriating hint of a smirk curling his lips.   
“Is it working?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... Did not realise it had been over a year since I updated this.  
> I plead university?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, well I do... I liked the idea of secret relationship ExR and then the mutants thing kind of... Appeared... As did the random smut. Whoops
> 
> Not sure how regularly this will be able to update, but I am working on it!  
> Title comes from the Tracey Chapman song


End file.
